Beauty's Bandit
by Amidst Hobbits
Summary: "Based on the hit Disney movie, Tangled, comes the origin story you've been waiting for! See how a young thief and an isolated beauty came to be the characters you know and love. Witness them as they encounter danger and learn secrets as they grow up and mature in their own worlds. In a masterful piece of fan-fic, you will truly see the real Flynn and Rapunzel." - Authors' Husband
1. Chapter 1 - Beast and Beauty

**Beauty's Bandit**

Tales of beasts haunt young and old alike; they are enough to keep one up night after night. Sometimes, one's fears can lead to desperation. This was the case of a young man who grew up hearing about the beast in the haunted castle. His fear led him to vow that he would one day destroy the source of his countless sleepless nights.

In the shadows he crept through the trees and the snow. The gleam of the moon shown through the tips of the fir trees above. Wolves howled nearby; he motioned for them to be silent. On and on they climbed, until the haunted house could be seen in the dim light. Tall was the tower, gray were the ancient bricks, and cold was the night surrounding it.

Closer and closer they crept. He grabbed hold of the lattice and climbed hand over hand until he could peer in through the window above. And, yet, what was this his eyes beheld? No longer a beast, but a man! So, the beast had bested the curse.

They caught each other's gaze, a hint of remembering crossed their faces as at each other they stared.

"A-aron? Is... Is that you?"

The man on the lattice dropped down through the window, raising himself up to his full height. "I'm surprised that you would recognize me."

"You have grown to be sure, but how could I not recognize my own brother? Looking at you is like looking at my own self!"

"How did you break the curse?" Said the intruder through steely, clenched teeth.

"Through the only thing that can truly change a beast back – true love, my brother!"

Aaron pulled his hood back over his face. "How can you love?" He spat. "You are a beast. You may no longer look like it, but you have always been so."

A look of pain crossed over the face of the older. "A-aron. I know you can never forgive me... The pride that I smothered over our family is still a dark memory in my mind... I was never there for you... I should have protected you – should have loved you like a brother." He reached his hand out to his brother, but was quickly rejected as the younger turned back towards the window.

"I could never forgive you."

* * *

The wolves in the woods howled out through the night. Their prince was still within the castle walls, and the moon was sinking between the hills.

Inside, a beautiful queen awoke to the sound of a baby newly woken from its sleep. She picked up her child and cradled it close to her chest. She sang a soft melody in its ear to calm the tears. Her ears perked at the sound of an insistent knocking on the door. "Coming, my dear! Just checking on the baby!" She quickly walked towards the door only to be surprised by whom she saw on the other side.

The servant child looked like death hung on his lips. "Your highness, the prince has returned! He is in the tower as we speak... I think he has come to kill the king!"

"Oh, Chip!" She clutched the baby closer as tears of fear began to flow down her cheeks. "I was afraid this would happen some day... He won't be satisfied until he has the throne!" The queen clutched her baby closer and then hung her head. "Chip, you must take the baby far away... Where he can never be found. I don't care if he ever knows he is royalty – as long as he escapes the curse for good. The envy and pride that has plagued this family for generations must be kept far away from this baby." The tears flew down her cheeks and she buried her face in the baby's hair.

"My queen, you must flee as well! You should take the baby far away from here!" the servant child bowed his head at the gravity of the situation.

"Though I love this baby more than I could ever explain, young one, my place is with my husband. Our love melts beasts in their tracks – we have endured hardship in the past, and one thing is true, my place is by his side. Though this might be the last night that we have, I would rather die with my hand held in his. Chip, you must take the baby in my place. It breaks my heart to even think this way, but I know that it must be so. Please, I beg you to do this for me!" Through her grief she thrust her child into the arms of the servant child and then ran out of the room, and up the stairs, to where her true love fought for his life.

The servant child, Chip, pulled a cloak over himself to hide the baby who was now sleeping unaware of the events unfolding around him. Through the cavernous halls the servant boy crept. Up the staircase to the library he went. Only the spiders in the webs above heard as he pulled the giant oaken library doors shut behind him. To the bookcase he scurried with his arm clutching the baby tightly. His queen had told him a secret before the baby was born. She was not naïve to the dangers of marrying a beast who owned the castle on the mountain. Everyone in the kingdom knew of the riches possessed by the family that had lived there. Thus, she had instructed the young servant, that should the king's estranged brother ever come forth to steal the throne, that the this passage was to be used.

Up the ladder and two the right were the queen's favourite books. Stories that she had read since childhood. Stories that reminded her of her father who had given them to her before she ever dreamed of being royalty. Behind one in particular was a key. The servant lad carefully moved the book from its place and pulled the key from its hiding place. Down, down the ladder to the floor. Through the dark to secret door. Out through the long cold passage way into the wild of the night.

* * *

A basket was placed carefully in front of the old children's home. In it was a prince, but none would ever know, for the child looked just as plain and normal as any of the others that had been unceremoniously abandoned by the doorstep. After a short knock was placed upon the door, the basket's delivery boy was clear out of sight.

Old lady Sister Helen, crooked and bent, hobbled on her cane to the door. She was not surprised to hear a baby's cry in the cool of the night. She had found countless others in a much similar fashion. The only remainder of the child's past that she could find was a hurriedly written note attached to its blanket. In a child's scrawly handwriting was written simply a name "Flynn."

Bringing the basket full of baby in out of the cold, she placed it on the table in the main reception room. Her assistant, a younger woman, possibly in her late forties, sat at the desk. "Oh, my goodness! Another one! We are quite running out of cribs – how can we afford to house another?"

"We always find a way, Sister Agness." She unpinned the note and carefully lifted the baby from the a basket. "The note says 'Flynn', but such a name carries no hope for an abandoned baby. Think up a civilized name for the child, will you?" She passed the note to her assistant who took it and placed it in a file drawer beside her.

"Let's see. The last baby," she examined the child before her, "boy we named started with a 'd'; so, I suppose this one should have an 'e'. How about Eustice?"

"We already have a Eustice upstairs! Think again – Quickly now!"

* * *

"Eugene!" Yelled an aggravated Sister Agness. "How many times have I told you to keep out of the reception room! You and your little friend Thomas have tracked mud all through the carpets!" The freckled child before her had his hands safely behind his back, and as innocent a smile as he could muster plastered across his face.

"Well, ma'am, I j-"

"Now, I don't want to hear any of your excuses." The nun cut in. "My job is to try and find suitable parents for you. How am I ever going to succeed if you keep growing into such a trouble maker?!" She squashed her fingers into her temples in exasperation.

"Yes, ma'am, I understand... Now, can I go?" He grinned a little wider to show his 'understanding.' Sister Agness threw him a glare. "Sister, you have given me so much wisdom today. I will have a lot to think about...Bye!" With a slight bow towards Sister Anne, an elementary sized Eugene Fitzherbert raced back outside to join the other boys that looked at him with eyes that were thoroughly impressed.

A shaggy, red-headed youth called over to Eugene, "Eugene, I don't know how you always manage to sweet-talk her like that. You truly are an example to the rest of us waifs!" Waifs was a common descriptor that the older nuns at the house had used to describe the orphans that lived there. Other names were also known to tag the excess trouble makers like Eugene and his friends.

"Guys," Eugene through them another of his winner grins, "I told you, it's – wait for it, wait for it – _Flynn. _A guy like me can't be referred to by any girly-given names." Eugene had pilfered through the reception room desk while completing a very daring mission given to him by one of the much older boys. In the process of finding a locket, he had found a small slip of paper inscribed with the word 'Flynn'. Eugene had thought that the name had a particularly suave sound to it and applied it to himself with his gang ever since; however, some of the guys would slip up and forget to call him by it from time-to-time.


	2. Chapter 2 - Eugene Fitzherbert

Though 'Flynn' was a name to be associated with danger and adventure, _Eugene_ was usually what one would hear echoing throughout the house when something ornery was afoot. It was also the unfortunate name that Molly Peters and the other girls would squeal in dissatisfaction whenever they found frogs in their bunks. 'Flynn' never caught on as well as the lad had hoped. Only a few of the younger boys would whisper it in awe when Eugene Fitzherbert did something particularly daring.

_Molly Peters_ – Now that was a name that could strike fear into the heart of any lad at the house. That was a name of power and fame. Attached to such a name was a brunette with a lemony sweet voice and a tattle-tale's disposition. Yes, _Molly Peters_ was the name of a nine-year-old to be feared!

To torture Molly was a feat that, if one survived without a lashing or two, was one to be celebrated. Yet, it was unfortunately rather difficult, as the girl was especially vigilant and rash-fully violent toward any boy - with the exception of Gilbert Thomas, a boy three years her senior. Gilbert was the unlucky receptor of her undying affection and devotion. If one got closer to a group of the group of girls, that they would all agree that he was a boy worth showering with giggles and syrupy, disgusting portrayals of girlish puppy love.

Gilbert Thomas was a boy who loved to overshadow the other boys with his superiority and importance. He was nearly twelve, close to aging out of the house; yet, he ruled his miniature kingdom with every day he had left. It was he who, unbeknown-st to the feminine residents, held the current spitball huge-ness record. And yet, he was plagued with girlish followers... And, seemed to enjoy it. Something the younger, _manlier_ boys didn't seem to grasp.

The characters in Eugene's life were fear-mongers to be sure. His goal in life – to show up Gilbert Thomas and reign supreme in the minds of the orphan lads once-and-for-all.

* * *

_Soup_. It was soup again. It was always soup. It was as if that was all the nuns could actually cook. Alright, so perhaps that was an overstatement. In actuality they actually were well known for being able to make a variety of delicious meals. Perhaps, it was more that they got some sort of sick fascination of masking those abilities by primarily serving soup. The nuns liked to use the excuse that it was "a gift from the dear people of the town" who "cared so much for the poor waifs at the house."

Boyish lips pooted into pouts as they smelled the familiar smell of '_nothin'-but-soup soup'_. Flynn stepped forward in line, 'accidently' tripping Nancy in the process. She shot him a cold hard glare and smoothed out her dress before resuming her place in line.

"I saw that, Eugene! I hate you!"

"Ah, shut up, Nancy. I didn't do anything and you know it!" Flynn grinned inwardly to himself. His good friend Mat had seen the trippin' and nodded his head in quick approval. An ego boost for Flynn and a ruffled dress for Nancy. It was a win-win situation.

However, Nancy didn't seem to see the humor in it. She had begun to whisper to the girl in front of her, who in turn did the same to the girl in front of her. The girl in front of her, Molly, turned her head slowly towards Eugene, eyes glowing red and ponytail standing straight up. Or, so it seemed.

Eugene simply shrugged and motioned for Nancy to step forward. "Nancy, if you don't mind, you are holding up the line." Another impish grin and he too stepped forward.

Now, Eugene was a well-known trouble-maker. Yet, he was careful to show a positive image in front of the adult-kind. Lifting his bowl for the Sister to fill, he added, "Sister Mary-Anna, I must say, you make the best soup in all the land."

Sister Mary-Anna, who knew better than to fall for the flattery of orphaned youths, rolled her eyes in response as she filled his bowl. "Glad that you feel that way, lad..."

"Oh, and did I mention that you have a beautiful..." He searched her face for anything particularly note-worthy, "... mole next to your lip?" Sensing that his complement hadn't gone over as well as he had hoped, Eugene simply grinned and then hurried to sit down next to the other boys.

Little Ben, who truly was little, having only just turned six a few weeks ago (it was a guess considering he didn't actually know his own birthday), clapped as Flynn came near. "Wow!"

Flynn slapped the little kid on the back and began to slurp his soup, that is until he remembered that he nuns, one of which was within ear-shot, especially disliked slurpers.

The nearby nun raised her eyebrows at him, "I see you, Eugene Fitzherbert..."

One thing about living in the orphan home, one definitely recognized one's pretend last name...

* * *

One of the joys of boyhood was after morning studies, when one was somewhat free to enjoy the great outdoors. The 'great outdoors' consisted of two pine trees and a giant mud puddle located in the fenced in backyard. There was also a single teeter-totter that some 'kind-hearted' patron had donated a few summers back. Sadly. The teeter-totter was usually surrounded by girlish-gossip. Certainly not a place for a _man_ to associate. Thus, the boys primarily inhabited the lower limbs of the shortest pine. The tricky part was only climbing up when one knew one wasn't going to get caught. Once up, one could be mostly hidden by the large billow, green branches. As long as too many boys didn't try to crowd in at the same time. It was an unwritten rule that no one under nine go up. Flynn was ten – so no worries.

"Gosh, Franklin! Move yer arm, would ya? Your gonna knock us all out if you squirm like that!" Bill had a very low tolerance of being shoved, he was the unruly red-head of the group. Franklin, Matthew, and Eugene were the 'gang' that often could be found inhabiting the old pine. Ben was apart of the gang too, but he was also still in the under nine crowd; so, his membership was technically pending.

Franklin yawned as if he hadn't just shoved Bill with an offending elbow. "Quit your yappin', Bill. I'm trying to catch some shut eye!"

"Flynn, are you gonna tell us another story tonight? You haven't told us a good wholliper in at least a fortnight..." Franklin would have been a sci-fi nerd if those had existed back then. He loved a good fic, Flynn being one of his favorite authors.

"Shush, Frank! I'm tryin' to think of one this very minute. It's gonna be whole 'nother fortnight if you don't stop yer yappin'!" In truth, Eugene had run out of charcoal with which to write in his book of their gang's adventures. Being a voracious writer, he readily ran out of pencils with which to write. He had spent the last several days looking for a stub of charcoal that wouldn't be easily missed.

"Fine. Don't like your silly stories that much anyways..." Franklin muttered.

* * *

It did take another several days before Eugene was able to find some more good charcoal. He had shoved an underused one down his shirt during morning studies when the teacher-nun wasn't looking. It had been during arithmetic time. She had been too busy leading her students in reciting the twos times tables to notice. Stealing, as he knew, whether something of grand importance or not, was considered a vile sin. He had heard the lecture before. But, he only ever took things of no consequence; so, he figured it wasn't all that vile, maybe just a little dust on the big list of sins that he could be committing instead. Most of the ones he committed were those kind of little ones. In fact, Eugene considered himself to be pretty close to saintly. He did know how to write better than most of the girls after all...

That night, Eugene, Flynn, busied himself documenting a particularly astonishing adventure through the attic the gang had gone on earlier in the week. Earlier in learning his letters, he had learned about the artistic value of embellishment in in authorship. He was rather fond of it, especially when describing himself in his stories. The only one to ever complain was Frank, but then, Franklin liked to complain about basically anything. One would almost think he was related to Molly.

* * *

Later that night he plopped himself down on his bed, which was thankfully far enough from Gilbert's, and in between Bill and Mat's. He pulled his little notebook, given to him by Sister Agness, rest her soul, before she hit-the-bucket (she was a good ol' nun, as nuns go), out from under his mattress and motioned for the gang to gather round. They did, including little Ben.

After insuring that they wouldn't get caught, the story telling began. With Eugene mostly reciting the earlier written tale from memory as he couldn't really see the pages in the dark.

_"So, one time, the soldiers crept through the dark passage way, led by their fearless leader Captain Flynn. They were out to find the secret treasure guarded by the pirate king..."_

**A/N: I am having too much fun writing this. As an author, I have been very inspired by authors such as Tolkien, Morgenstern (Princess Bride, people!), and Mark Twain. So, you may find this to be the case as you read me. At least, this is what my husband says. Since he is a few states away currently, I am kind of writing this to/with him during his absence. He is inspiring/advising me on some of the boyish-ness of the characters. Hope you enjoy it as much as I am enjoying writing it. Feel free to comment. I love a good comment or well thought out constructive crit. As an author, I would love to learn how to improve. :) **


	3. Chapter 3 - The Shaming

"Eugene Fitzherbert – if that's even your real surname, which I _highly doubt_ it is!- you come over here right this instant!" Molly was smart enough to realize, having come to the home at the age of five-and-a-half, that not all of the children had any inclination as to their heritage. Flynn surely, as unrefined as he was, didn't.

Flynn's shoulders sank as he whirled around to face Molly. "You rang?" For once, he couldn't possibly imagine what she could be yammering about this time. There was nothing as unflattering as a girl that used a guy's last name when referring to him. Flynn made a mental note that he was going to change his last name sooner than later. Besides, she has such an annoying way of sounding like... a woman...

The wrath of Molly Peters could be physically felt through anything thick... like... like... a very thick brick wall. It was no secret that, in addition to being a terrible tattle-tale, that she could also throw some mean punches. It was almost worst when she addressed one personally about whatever was upsetting her, rather than hearing about it from one of the nuns.

Flynn shrunk, trying to hide his nervousness from anyone who might be watching, over to Molly, keeping a safe distance of course.

"You are a good-for-nothing... scoundrel!" She shouted, while waving her finger for emphasis. "I know it was you!"

Flynn rolled his eyes at her, "Oh, yah, Molly? How do you know? You haven't even said what you are saying I did. So, how could you possibly prove it was me, huh?" He shot her a petty glare in an effort to look self-composed and unafraid.

"Doesn't take brains to figure it out, Prince of Trouble!" She probably shouldn't have added that last part, since Flynn made it obvious by his change in stance that he was taking it as a compliment. "I hate you!" She added, just in case. "Just this morning, Caroline found... a dead frog in the toe-end of her bed! A real dead one, all black and dead!"

Flynn couldn't hold back the escaping giggle. If it was that black and dead it's alarming that they, especially Caroline, hadn't smelled it earlier!

"Don't laugh, you bull-headed nincompoop! We all known that dead frogs have _Eugene_ written all over them." She crossed her arms and gave him a glare.

Having remembered something about girls and frogs from nearly a week-and-a-hald ago, Flynn couldn't deny that it was most likely he who had been responsible for the dead creature in Caroline's bed. "So, what if it was me... not that you can prove it... could have been that ol' Gilbert, all we kno-"

That pushed a button in Molly that probably should have been recognized as being very large and marked with _never-touch-unless-you-want-to-die-a-slow-and-terrible-death _written all over it. She began to visibly seath and hunch over like an angry dog. "How dare you suggest that Gilbert would ever think of doing such a thing! If the rest of you were as nice as he, we'd be... in heaven for sure!"

Flynn, knowing perfectly well of the devilry Gilbert was capable of, suppressed an laugh and instead backed a few steps away from the made girl in front of him. "My, well, you look exhausted. Are you feeling well? Maybe you like a cup of tea... maybe sit down for a while... or..." Flynn decided to high-tale it to the pine tree in the backyard.

Unfortunately, Molly was a very fast runner. In fact, outrunning her was proving to be more difficult than he had imagined. He had barely jumped up to reach the lowest limb of the tree when overly sharp nails dug into the back of his tunic, threatening to pull him down to the ground below. He clung to the branch by the tips of his fingers, trying to pull his other leg over the top of the branch, his head hanging dangerously upside down towards Molly. He supposed it was time to flash a grin in hopes that later he wouldn't be flashing a shiner instead.

Molly continued to pull at Eugene's tunic, almost beginning to tear it. She was jumping up and down and saying some rather unpleasant things in the process. With a final tug, she successfully dislodged her target from the tree, sending him hurling to the ground below with a thud. However, not yet satisfied with her revenge, she took a heel-clod right shoe and ground it into his cheekbone before huffing off.

Eugene immediately pulled his hand to his cheek suppressing a yell and anxiously trying to keep from crying out in pain. What? Really? The play yard was completely deserted! No one had witnessed the event; no one that would for once see Molly's true nature?! Eugene threw his left fist into the dirt beside him. "I hate you, Molly Peterson." He grumbled. This was obviously not his day.

Flynn trudged inside trying to keep from being noticed by anyone else. It was one thing to get in a fight; it was another to explain that the victor was not one's self – but a girl...

* * *

Just his luck, little Ben, his most devoted fan, was the first one to notice him. "What! Happened! Owww!" Ben cupped his hands over his face in shock, while jumping up and down slightly.

Flynn coughed a nervous laugh. "Oh, nothin'. Just... just... fe- jumped out of the tree, Ben. Yup, I climbed all the way to the fourth branch and jumped out!" He lied, a little bit. He felt a little better telling such a fantastic story. The fourth branch was very impressively high. One had to be very brave or stupid to jump from it.

"Oh. Looks like it hurts." Ben pointed towards the mark beginning to show itself on Flynn's face.

Another cough-laugh and a flick of the hair to show confidence as Flynn explained, "Nope. Didn't hurt at all. It might hurt you though; so, don't try it. But, no, didn't hurt." Flynn gave himself a mental pat-on-the-back in attempts to forget about the head-numbing throbbing emanating from his left cheek. "Don't worry about, kid."

Flynn ducked past the girls in the hall as he walked towards the stairs. They snickered as he did, obviously having already heard Molly's side of the story. Caroline looked especially pleased, in an arrogant older-than-you-smarter-than-you sort of way.

* * *

Flinging himself onto his bed, he pulled his blanket over his face. Desperately trying to keep from crying. Molly had better understand that she better watch herself from now on. She had progressed in his mental book from annoying to _really, really annoying_.

* * *

The next morning, a dull pain sunk into Eugene's face. There would be no hiding it, there was a dark purple shiner on his cheek. He lightly tapped his cheek to see how puffy it was. Puffy. No doubt about it. He groaned as sludged out of his bed. He came face to face with Bill. Bill was obviously eying the bruise on his face. Eugene instinctively pulled his sleeve across his face in a stretch. "Hey, Bill. How are you doing this morning."

Bill shrugged. "Fine. What happened to you? Can I touch it?"

Not about to look like a sissy, Flynn dropped his arm to reveal the black-and-blue spot. Squish, squish, squish went Bill's finger (more like_ jab, jab, jab)_. Flynn grimaced a bit, but let the other lad know he was brave. "It doesn't hurt... that much."

"I'll bet it does you, lier!" Bill said with an obvious bit of appreciation at the suffering on his friend's behalf. "Eh, don't worry about it. You have to worry about. Like being beaten by a girl." He chuckled for a second.

Eugene covered his face in his hands in shame, his brown bangs dangling over his fingers. _Oh, no! Everyone already knows! That stupid girl told everyone! _Now his face had turned a shade of red to contrast the purple and black already there.

Any other boy surely would have died after being shamed by Molly Peters. Flynn, on the other-hand, was going to prove that he was an exception...

Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be happening any time soon. Walking to his studies he noticed the looks and glances. He was doing all he could to mask his embarrassment under a grin that was losing its confidence.

* * *

The nun seemed to drone on until she also noticed his mark of shame. "Eugene, stand up!"

Not a good sign when the nuns told you to stand up. Slowly Eugene stood at the side of his desk, head hanging slightly to the side, but eyes sure to be mostly meeting her gaze. "Yes, ma'am?"

"What on earth has happened to you, lad?" Her pointer stick was demanding an answer by tapping on his desk.

"Noth-" Her change in posture made it obvious that she wouldn't be accepting 'nothin', especially without the voiced 'g' for an answer. "I fell out of a tree, ma'am."

A noticeable giggling spread across the classroom, stopping just as suddenly as it began. Sincere smugness spread across the lips of his nemesis on the girls side.

"I see." Said the teacher-nun. "Well, then, please report to the reception hall to get it seen to." She removed her pointer and motioned for him to remove himself to the designated location.

Amid stares, he did so.

* * *

Upon entering the reception hall he reported to Sister Cicely to be doctored up. She was new. He had never met her before. "Good gracious, child! What happened to you?" She patted him on the shoulder while sitting him down. Under the weight of genuine concern, the tears started falling in a most unnecessary manner.

Not knowing why, he told her the truth that most everyone else had already heard anyways. She a kind way of listening as he did. She fetched a nice cool towel and dabbed his bruise with it. "I'm sorry, honey. That sounds awful; yet, it also sounds like you deserved it."

Eugene nodded as she spoke. He smiled awkwardly and focused his breathing to stop the horrible sobbing. Sister Cicely, as she tousled his hair and tended to him all caring-like, had helped him to realize that not all girls were worth hating. He also secretly vowed to himself to never let her catch him being naughty. Not that he would be overly good, he just wanted her to see a different side of him than the rest.

* * *

Over the next month, other things happened to distract the other kids from remembering about Eugene's big shaming. For one, they got to go to a church picnic with a potluck fit for royalty. It was a benefit picnic for local charities, so it only seemed fitting that the townspeople invite the local orphan community. Also, the rainy season had deepened the mud puddle nearly up to a seven-year-old's knees, inviting hours of distraction. Further, more and more attention was being given to Gilbert who the nuns were busily preparing for moving on in life as his birthday grew ever closer.


	4. Chapter 4 - Times for Change

One night, after everyone had gone off to sleep, Flynn found himself being wakened by Franklin nudging him incessantly. "What! What?" He groaned, tossing his pillow at the other boy.

Franklin moved over and sat next to Flynn. "I can't sleep."

Flynn yawned through a stretch, "I can see that. But, why are you wakin' me up for?"

"I started thinkin' about Gilbert, ya know? He is about to go out on his own in a couple of weeks. No ma, no dad. Do you think he's scared?"

Flynn thought for a second. "I suppose not. It is Gilbert, after all... He is pretty brave..."

"Do you think we'll ever get adopted before we're his age?" It was a well-known understanding that very few kids made it out through adoption. In fact, those who were adopted were held in some sort of unfair esteem. They were usually girl. Almost always girls – young ones. Some nice couple would come and look around then find a nice, little girl to add to their families. And that was it. Kind of a depressing cloud hung over the others, knowing that they were most likely to old now to even have a chance. Maybe Ben had a chance, if he could act cute enough when potential parents came a visiting.

"I don't wanna get your hopes up, Frank. So, I will tell you, probably not. But, don't worry about that... We have each other, right?" He put his arm around his buddies shoulders in solidarity. "We got each other's backs, don't you worry. When we are Gilbert's age, then we can go and start a real gang, right?"

Franklin nodded a solemn reply.

* * *

The teeter-totter when up and down with thuds each time it hit the ground unceremoniously. Gilbert was on one side, Molly, Caroline, and Nancy were on the other. They were all eying him with gushy faces. Flynn's gang were watching with disgust from their spot in the pine tree.

Caroline was speaking, "Gilbert, we are so worried about you! Where will you go?" Her lip was quivering through each word as Molly wiped nearly-real tears with her sleeve.

"Oh, I got a place in my mind." Gilbert replied. He was in the beginnings of starting a rumor that he had a well-to-do aunt a few towns over. "Gonna go east, girls, gonna go east." Gilbert was getting noticeably less chunky, trading his figure for a more refined sort of boyhood. The girls wouldn't stop talking to him, knowing that their time was running out before he left for good.

Flynn spoke to the gang, "I'm not sure of Gilbert going is a good thing or a bad thing. I won't miss him, but I do wonder what the girls will do without him."

Bill chuckled, "I would laugh so hard if they came chasing after you!"

Flynn shot him a glare, "More likely they would be interested in Franklin!"

Franklin, had been getting funny the closer he got to turning eleven. He barely seemed fazed by Flynn's nasty remark. Instead he just leaned against the tree and continued to peruse the commotion down below.

Unsure whether Franklin was going deaf or not, Flynn decided to re-voice his comment, "Like I said, Bill, more likely they would turn their eyes on girly Franklin." Again, no commotion. Flynn sighed in consternation before chucking a pine-cone at Franklin.

Franklin jumped out of his apparent daze, "Yow! What was that for?"

"Nothin." Bill and Flynn said together with some apparent annoyance.

Franklin, unsure of what to make of the pine-cone throwing, shimmied down the tree and went inside.

Bill and Flynn looked looked at each other and shrugged. "What was that about?" Bill quandared.

"Beats me. Maybe he's feeling sick." Flynn suggested. Both boys made mental notes to keep a careful watch over their moody pal.

* * *

Rather than get better, Franklin seemed to just be getting sicker. He was just so – moody. The other guys would try to liven him up, but it seemed to be know use. He just seemed to continue. When he came in for lunch, he didn't bother cheating up the line; instead, he merely walked to the back with the little kids.

Flynn, Bill, and even Ben, decided to do their watching from much farther up in the line. After working their way that far up, it was to big of a risk to go after Franklin. He would just have to suffer this one out by himself.

Ben was the closest to cracking and joining Frank, but Bill pushed him along, lest the little kid turn soft. "Hey, don't worry about him, Ben. He'll get over it eventually." Ben stole another glance behind, and then adjusted his breaches.

Flynn was looking a bit worried. Franklin's moodiness was beginning to affect the whole gang. Yet, the idea of being the one to confront Frank about it wasn't sounding very promising either. Maybe he would talk to Sister Cicely about it later. She seemed to be very knowledgeable about a lot of things – for a girl that is. Yet, he couldn't get the nagging feeling out of his mind that he was being a total and complete jerk to his best friend.

On the topic of Sister Cicily, she was serving lunch today. And, it wasn't just soup! A spring returned to his step as he resumed being pushy in line. "Good afternoon, Sister Cicely ma'am. That there bread smells delicious! Did you bake it yourself?" He grinned.

"Not, by myself, Eugene. The other sisters helped me. It is quiet good though. Here," she handed him an extra slice, "why don't you take a little more."

"Thank you, ma'am!" He beamed. He always knew she was one good woman.

* * *

Flynn wondered if it was better to run off and start one's independent life of one's own accord, or to be pushed out into. He pondered simply running away and joining a real band of brothers out there in the wild. Yet, every time he seriously considered packing up and leaving, a longing to stay with the familiar would bring him back again. Then he would tell himself, _not yet, I can always go tomorrow._

Gerald, on the other-hand, had only a few more "tomorrows" left. Though he was good at hiding it, his anxiety rubbed off on the younger boys. In his mental preparations for the free life, he was becoming much more irritable and dangerous to be around. Most of the boys put out a greater effort to avoid him. Even some of the girls seemed to be losing their undying interest in the older boy. Not Molly though, Flynn wondered if she would just shrivel up and die when he left. Not that he would complain but...

* * *

The boys huddled around the door frame peeking in to see the event unfolding inside. In a new tunic and knickers donated by some kindly older lady, stood Gilbert, standing straight and tall as the nuns instructed him. He wore a look of arrogance mixed with uncertainty as he listened to a lecture about the evils he might face in the outside world. Not that this came as any surprise to Gilbert, who hadn't even joined the home until he was in his late seventh year.

Little Ben, standing at the back, barely able to see through the boys legs in front of him, asked, "Is Gilbert going away for ever?"

Bill gave him another nudge and answered, "Of course. Do you think a big bully like him would want to come back and see a bunch of ninnies like us?"

Ben shook his head, "No, guess not."

The boys backed away quickly as Gilbert was being led out by one of the head Sisters, an two hands clasping his shoulders in a guiding manner. As they knew, eavesdropping was a terrible sin. So, they pretended to busy themselves in other ways as Gilbert walked by. The sister could be hear saying, "We have always loved having you hear Gilbert. You have been such a joy to all of us."

And, without as much as a 'goodbye' he was rushed out into the real-world. Never to return. They boys looked around the room. Near the stairs some of the girls were wiping tears as they braced themselves against the banister and each other. No such reaction from the boys. Instead, they eyed each other up and down. Gilbert was the oldest, now he was gone. His kingdom was up for grabs. At this realization, the boys began to stand up a little taller as cocky, stupid grins began to toy with their mouths. Chief of them was Flynn, cocky looking as could be, as soon as Gilbert was out of eye and ear-shot.

"So, lads. The king is gone." Flynn said with a bow. "Anyone think they can fight me to the top, or have I already won?" He gave his cheeky grin.

Franklin, quickly becoming one of the oldest in the group, didn't look up for fighting. Laurence, however, might, only he had twisted his leg real bad a few weeks prior. Ben put his dukes up in pretend before giving his buddy Flynn a pat on the back and an overly-dramatized bow of deference.

"Why thank you my humbles servants!" Said the newly empowered Flynn as he sprung towards the stairs. Up a few steps, a flick of the hair, and up the rest in triumphant jubilation. The girls sobbed on.

* * *

As night fell and the pecking order began to reorder itself, the moon cast an eery glow on the bed that had, for so many years, belonged to Gilbert. The blankets had been folded neatly at the foot of the bed, the pillow placed atop it. Sitting in his bed, Flynn stared at the lone bed. All of the other boys did too. It was just so unsettling to see it so empty. Yes, they had seen many empty beds over the years as other boys aged out; yet, this was different, for Gilbert had been a legend of a boy.

Following the impulsion of a newly formed idea, Flynn reached under his mattress and grabbed the few treasures he had stored there, stuffed his blanket and pillow under his arm, and stood up next to his bed. All eyes watched him, as slowly, with hesitation, he walked one footstep at time towards Gilbert's old bed. A few more steps, and he stood directly in front of it. With a hop and a jump, he unceremoniously flung himself, arms and legs outstretched, facing the mattress, onto the bed. It leaped slightly under his impact. A whispered hush flowed across the dark room as Flynn raised himself to put his belongings under the new mattress. No words were needed, the understanding was there. The bed was now his.


	5. Chapter 5 - Smelling Salt

Gilbert wasn't the only one to disappear that day. When morning broke, someone else was found to be missing. Molly Peters. Caroline came crying down the stairs. Molly was nowhere to be found. One of the boys even volunteered to check the attic. No Molly. Through shrugged shoulders, the boys assumed that she must have followed her stupid little heart after Gilbert.

* * *

Flynn was loving his new prestige. He could walk uncontested to the front of the line, sit in the best chair, and talk down to any of the kids he pleased. He was top dog, and the others bent under his authority.

The children weren't the only ones to notice he soon found; he was called into the room to talk with Sister Mary-Judith.

"Young man, we have finally gotten rid of one bully, we don't have room for another one in this house. You might find yourself to be of high reputation, but no true honor will come from it." She was the top to get right in one's face as she talked, no cheeky grins could win this one over, "Remember, pride comes before the fall. Believe me, bigger men than yourself have gotten so full of themselves that they fall straight on their faces in their own self-absorption." Her words of wisdom were falling mainly on deaf ears, for Flynn strutted out just as much as he strutted in when she let him rejoin the others.

* * *

Ten and eleven were mighty fine years. He had lost Franklin's friendship, but had replaced it with Ben's full fledged membership and allegiance after the little lad's ninth birthday.

An autumn sun still lingered in the air as Flynn leaned against the old pine. He was writing a particularly good story this afternoon. He was nearly twelve now. The nuns were giving him more attention, more finger-wagging and advice. He listened, though he already thought himself to be wise beyond his years. They needn't worry about him so much, he supposed. He remembered back to when Franklin left the home. He had looked so ready to leave. Surprisingly, Franklin did have other relatives, an uncle had offered him an apprenticeship!

Though an apprenticeship didn't sound rather fine, Flynn was sort of excited at the prospects of rogue freedom. Though he could not remember ever truly being alone, he supposed it couldn't be all that horrible. When one is alone, one doesn't have to worry about people, rules, and such. Rules weren't all that terrible, but they did slightly hamper his true potential. After all, he never imagined himself to ever be anyone overly vicious and bad. Surely, he would always maintain a visible white streak in his personage.

Flynn peaked out from the pine tree, over the fence to the world beyond. For directions spread out offering hope and possibility. Of course, behind him was the home, which was quickly closing its doors to him. In front of him were tall, grey mountains, to his left, the village wrapped around, and to his right, the vast endless forest. He had his whole life to explore them. Perhaps he would visit it all.

* * *

The night before his own departure crept up like a prowling cat. He sat on his bed with Ben and Bill discussing his soon, future self. "Some day, boys, we will all be together again. We will have a giant castle with the biggest tree-fort imaginable. And we'll be pirates, big and tall. Even you, Ben."

"Are you really gonna leave us, Flynn?" Bill was sitting with his hands on his knuckles and his face splattered with a pout.

"I have too... No way out of it. I'm a man now, boys." Flynn gave Bill a friendly sock on the shoulder.

"There throwing you out. I heard stories that people out on the streets got nothin' to eat at night." Ben looked noticeably worried. "You need to get yourself a good pouch so that peoples don't steal from yuh." Ben's blanket had been stolen a few nights after he first came to stay at the home. He never forget the trauma of it all, even after the older boys had stolen it back for him.

* * *

It was nearly midnight as Flynn lay awake in his bed. A question was mushing his mind all over the place. Was it better to run away tonight, leaving of his own accord, or to wait till morning when the forced him to leave. If he did wait, he was certain to receive some fine new clothes; however, the thought of having to leave somewhere that he had developed all his memories from was wreaking havoc on his emotions. If he left during the night, he wouldn't have to say goodbye and see all their sad faces. They were sure to miss him so. But, if he did leave during the night, he would get the pride of seeing their sad faces because they missed him so. What he was most afraid of was breaking down and crying when he left them behind. There was hardly any dignity leaving blubbering tears down the sidewalk. That just wouldn't do. He had to leave tonight.

Cautious not to wake anyone, he carefully packed his things. He smoothed the blanket on his bed and gave it a good ol' thank-you-pat for treating him so kindly. Opening up his book to the middle, he laid a piece of twine along the binding before closing it. Then he fastened the twine around his waist like a belt. Quietly, down the stairs to the front door. Turning the lock he sighed. _This was it_. He dashed down the front sidewalk and vaulted over the locked fence outside. He turned to the right and walked deep into the night.

The stars shone brightly to keep him company throughout the night. It was still warm enough outside that he wasn't freezing as he walked. Soon the stars were traded for the suns fingers reaching over the mountains as it began its accent into the sky. He placed his hand over his forehead to shield his eyes from the morning light.

After a few more hours a thought accord to him, how did the Sisters expect him to do right in the world with no money? Walking through the market he was consistently reminded that food wasn't free. In fact, most of the vendors were already eying him suspiciously, as if he were some sort of thief. His stomach growled loudly. Then it gurgled, doing little flips within him. The free life was beginning to disillusion him somewhat.

* * *

Flynn decided to walk someways towards the wharf. Numerous massive fishing boats were sloshing up and down along the docks. Flynn had never been a boat before. He decided to get a closer look. Strolling down the dock he found pleasure in smelling the thick sea air and watching the gulls floating on the coastal breeze. He had never tasted sea water before, but he had heard tales of how salty it could be. Lowering himself towards the water, he cupped up a handful of the cool ocean water and lifted it to his lips. He spat it out immediately, realizing how salty it was in actuality.

An old sailor who had watched guffawed heartedly as he approached the newly emancipated lad. "Well there, lad, doesn't seem you've had much experience with the ocean!" He was very portly; Flynn immediately noticed his impressive beard.

"N-no, S-sir! I've never been to the ocean before." Flynn sprang to his feet as the man struck out his hand for a good-natured shake.

"That there," the man pointed to one of the nearby boats, "is The Dragonfly. I've been sailing with her ever since I was your age, if I recall correctly."

Flynn was impressed as he looked up at The Dragonfly. It was a grand old boat with a green dragon painted along its side. His jaw was dropped as he took a step closer to look at the ship.

"You got a family, kid?"

Flynn shook his head. "Nah, not me."

"Well, the captains looking for a cabin boy. If your interested, you should go talk to him. He should still be catchin' up with brother at the Eagle Inn. If you hurry, you can catch him!" The old man chuckled and pointed in the direction of the inn.

The boy froze for a second, contemplating the crazy notion of being a sailor on the wide open sea. What was holding him back? Fear? Fear of the unknown. He shook his head to clear his mind of its caution. It was time to throw worry to the wind – he had nothing to lose! "Why, thank you kindly, Sir!" Said Flynn as he ran back up the dock.

* * *

The captain was indeed looking for a cabin boy. After having Flynn prove that he could heft a couple of crates around the inn, the captain had the boy helping the crew loading the ship. Though he couldn't help with the large barrels, there were plenty of smaller boxes to be loaded. Many, many boxes to be exact. Flynn was soon working harder then his muscles could ever remember working. Load by load he was determined to show the captain that the ship wouldn't want to leave without him on board.


	6. Chapter 6 - Over the Deck, Into the Brig

Everything about sailing was completely unexpected. First off, Eugene Fitzherbert came to the realization that he wasn't born with sea legs. As soon as the captain turned the wheel, a newly commissioned cabin lad was sliding down the deck towards the mast. The ships navigator, a lanky tween, helped him to his feet. "First time sailing, aye?"

The next thing he discovered was seasickness, followed shortly with the job that cabin boys actually do. Swabbing the deck. And swabbing it again not long after that. He leaned ungracefully, as instructed, over the side of the ship the next time. The crews cook/doctor patted him on the back, "First time sailing, hmm?"

Not long after, the new cabin boy learned about tattoos. It seemed like every member of the crew, other than he, had at least four of them. Eugene gaped at the bosun's giant tattoo of a bottle of rum only to be shoved aside, "First time sailing, argh."

What he wouldn't learn until later was the dangers of the open ocean. Sure, he had heard a good pirate tale or two, but he had never actually seen swords and daggers in action. A few more restless nights swinging side-to-side and he was closer to learning that next lesson.

* * *

"The fog is getting thicker by the minute, Captain. I don't have a good feeling about this." The First Mate exhaled smoke from his cigar as he spoke.

"Tell the crew to keep an eye out for trouble. Never know what you'll find in a fog like this..."

The fog was turning a purplish-black as it curled its wispy fingers around the ship. Eugene watched in terror as the terrible darkness surround them. They were many days out to see by now. He couldn't swim – he'd never had the opportunity to learn. He huddled in his bunk as the ship creaked back and forth on the sea.

An orange-ish hue became visible through the doorway, soaring through the sky and crashing to the deck below. Hollering and cursing erupted outside. Those who had found luck to sleep, woke and rushed out to join the commotion on the deck. Something was happening outside. Something horrible and unexpected.

"Lad! Lad!" It was crew member who had gotten him into this whole mess in the first place! He shouted to Eugene, barely audible over the loudly booming noises outside. The man tossed a short sword down to the sleeping quarters before running back to the top deck. Flynn's eyes popped open wide as he cautiously picked up the weapon. Goodness knows he had no experience with ever using one! His gut wasn't ready to learn how either. To his left was a large crate, he quickly darted behind it, his breathing increasing significantly.

It wasn't long before he heard heavy, clumsy footsteps tromping down the stairs. He closed his eyes tightly, afraid of whom it might belong to. A foul smell entered the room. "'ello? Anyone down here? We're havin' all the fun upstairs – come out, come out, where ever you are!" The footsteps moved closer. "I 'ear ya! Don't you worry."

Eugene silently tried to cover his mouth and nostrils, trying desperately to disappear. The slimy smell crept closer. He tried his hardest to let it knock him out in a silent feint. No use. He pulled his body tighter together – just as the crate was kicked out from in front of him! In fright of sheer panic, Eugene screamed like a girl with her hair-a-fire!

Rough hands grabbed him and shoved him up off the floor. As he held his eyes closed, daring not to look, he smelled dank teeth close to his nostrils and calloused hands squashing his face as the other held him roughly around the neck. "Well, well. What a treasure. You obviously don't know much about the sea, _do you_?" Eugene risked a peak through his eyelashes. The man in front of him, was most definitely _a pirate_. "Looks to me like you were trying ta hide, am I right?" Eugene froze up like a rag-doll, unable to respond. "Why don't we take a little trip updeck and see what you've been missin' out on, huh?" Slung defenselessly under the pirate's arm, Eugene was carried upstairs.

Most of the commotion had already died down. Those who were still alive were hastily switching their allegiances, moving any crates of value to the ship next door. The men that now moved to-and-frow between the ships had deep scowls, depressed eyes, and much more unfriendly looking demeanors.

"Looks like I found us a new recruit boys!" The pirate said as he tossed Eugene through the air like a sack of potatoes. He sailed over the waters between the two ships and landed in the arms of another pirate who reached out to catch him from the other ship. More bad breath and grimy hands clawed Eugene as he was shoved to the deck and kicked.

Still in shock and horror, Eugene cowered on the rocking deck, unable to move. He covered his face with his arms as the ship that had brought him thus far began to roar with heavy fire and burn. Hot tears stung his cheeks as feelings of complete desolation clouded his vision. Another kick sent him rolling across the floor to another pirate that tossed him into the brig.

Eventually the fire light went out as the sailed farther and farther out to sea.

* * *

The brig was cold and damp. It also had a fishy smell, not that that was surprising, Eugene was quickly learning that much of sea-life was associated with musky smells. The space was perhaps large enough to cram ten grown men inside, not much larger. The only man inside, other than himself, was the Navigator from the other ship. The Navigator had sunk into the corner with one knee up, upon which an wrist rested, and the other leg stretched out in front of him. A blue bandanna covered the man's sweaty, blood soaked brow.

Situations can be rather awkward when one finds oneself captured in a small space next to someone whom one had only briefly gotten acquainted with. Instead of breaching the silence with a half-baked conversation, Eugene simply stared at the Navigator.

Pulling his arm back behind his neck, Eugene felt the reddened skin behind his head. He leaned against the wall and breathed in deeply a few times before inspecting his other wounds. He could feel every part of him that had been grabbed, kicked, and rolled around in last nights hullabaloo. His body was aching like crazy; his stomach ached as well. It was well past time to eat. Further his mouth felt dry and salty, parched and unable to be quenched.

The sun beat down steadily throughout the day as the boy and the Navigator awaited their fate.

* * *

After a few more hours of sitting in the exhausting mid-day sun, a pair of black boots trudged over the brig grating. Bending down to look through, a bald-headed skinny, but very muscular, pirated peered down at the prisoners below. The pirate took a look and then walked away. He returned a few minutes later with a sloshing bowl of water and a crusty slab of bread. Carefully, unlocking the low grated ceiling of the brig, he reached down to place the bowl of water and bread down on the floor next to the captives. He then replaced the grate and disappeared again.

Eugene looked hard and long at the water, before forcing his body to move and reach out for it. He would have sucked the whole thing down if not for remembering that he wasn't alone. He lifted himself up off the floor and walked it over to the Navigator. The Navigator showed his gratitude by nodding his head briefly. Eugene turned back to the bread, broke it in half, and tossed the one of the halves to the Navigator. This elicited a crack of a smile from his companion.

Though stale, the bread wasn't completely tasteless. It was a very crunchy hardtack with a hint only a hint of mold. Eugene tried not to notice this as he busied himself with chewing. He considered thinking of a plan, but soon noted that a plan would most likely get him nowhere. He would once again sit back and see where life took him – he desperately begged it to take him somewhere nicer.


	7. Chapter 7 - Just a Little Squirrel

Not longer after he had finished eating, the boots returned to unlock the grate. They were accompanied by a pair of brown boots with shiny brass buttons. Both pairs dropped down into the brig. Standing next to the bald pirate was a pirate – who was also bald. Eugene worried they would shave his head...

"You there! On yer feet!" The first bald pirated sneered to the Navigator, pulling him to his feet. They led the Navigator above deck and re-locked the brig. Eugene figured he might as well get up and see if he could look at through the grating. His arms and legs barely let him rise to his tiptoes to peer out. Mostly he could just look straight up, though with a slight lateral view. He tried to avoid getting eyes full of sun rays. Frustrated at his limited vision, he reached his fingers up through the grates, checking to see if it really was locked. A pair of boots waltzed over and smashed them. Eugene screeched, his fingers throbbing, as he sunk back down to the floor. He sucked on his fingers and pouted. It was a rough day.

As he busied himself, nursing his wounds, the boots tramped back over. An older teen-aged face could be seen staring at him through the grating. A squarish-face with a mess of matted hair was smirking at him. "Ah, another bilge rat. We needed another powder monkey – our last one seems to have – _disappeared!_" The red-headed oaf above him snickered to himself. Obviously not intimidated by Eugene's glaring, he continued to taunt, "Don't see much sun do, yah? That's a mighty fine shade of red your sportin'."

Eugene glanced at his legs. He had never seen them so red. If he didn't know better, he would think he was turning into an apple. "I'm not scared of you!" _Please don't hurt me! Please don't hurt me! _

The older boy obviously thought the comment humerus as he chortled. "We'll see about that, _girly-boy_. We'll see about that!"

The older boy turned as a gruff voice called out, "Hank, get over here, you good-for-nothing toddler!" Getting up ungracefully, but quickly, he turned and ran toward the speaker.

Eugene could just barely hear them talking. The teen was being scolded for not minding to his work. For being such a tough guy, he sure whined a lot when being reprimanded.

Hank could be heard defending himself, "I was just bein' friendly to the new powder-rat! I was going to finish right after that, I swears!" A loud slap could be heard pelting skin.

"Stop your excuses and stop being lazy, you overgrown barrel-of-fish!" The gruff voice, got louder as it got closer to the brig. The man who had been speaking unlocked the grate and let it flung it open with a thud. A strong arm descended, muscles bulging and tattooed, and lifted a barely struggling child out. Eugene looked face to face with a fierce-some man with a coarse, wild, black beard.

Eugene flinched as he was swung through the air by the neck and planted on the deck next to the man. He gulped as beady eyes stared down at him. A steal toe nudged him in the leg.

The gruff voice spoke again. "Your starin' at this here ship's Quartermaster. As the lad over," He motioned to the Hank that had been taunting Eugene earlier, "seems to forget, I am the authority around here. I give an order, and you bilge-rats comply!" He gave a mean, powerful stare. Whether he meant them to or not, his muscles seemed to bulge repeatedly as he talked. He was a shorter guy, but he was all bulk.

Eugene gulped again. He understood the message.

Sending another meaningful kick to the new recruit, the Quartermaster continued, "Your new friend Hank will teach you the ropes."

Hank looked up from his work and sneered a toothy warning to the younger boy who had just been placed under his authority. "T'would be ah honor, Sir." He barked.

* * *

Hank seemed to enjoy bossing the younger kid around; whereas Eugene cursed the day that his internship with Hank had begun. The older boy got a good kick out of savagely critiquing everything the younger boy did. Eugene was still pathetically bad at dodging punches to the side of the head. It was only the first day of Eugene's working career, but his relationship with Hank was being thoroughly understood. _Do this. Do that. And do it with a smile or ol' Hank will have yer head!_

* * *

Eugene was relieved when the day's learning was over and was able to follow Hank to the galley to fetch some grub. It taisted nasty, but he was hungry.

During dinner, he sat just out of arms-reach from Hank. When asked what his name was, he realized the opportunity to once again try and reinvent himself. "Flynn. It's Flynn."

One of the older pirates seemed impressed. "Flynn, huh? So Flynn, got any special talents that might add value to that name?"

"I.. I'm.. a writer..." He offered. Not sure if the pirates sitting near him would find that all that valuable.

"A rider, huh? Well, it's good to know that one of us can ride a horse if we ever come across another one." He chortled and gave Flynn a slap on the back. "Here that, boys?" The pirate said, turned to the others in the group, "This here is little 'Flynnigan Rider!"

Flynn decided not to contest the man's miss-understanding. Maybe a writer would be considered emasculating anyways... He looked over towards Hank's glaring eyes; Hank didn't look too impressed.

He took another bite of the sludge on his plate. As he did, he took his eyes away from Hank. He reeled around when a kick landed in the middle of his back, sending his plate and sludgey-meal sliding across the deck. The other pirates laughed raucously at the whole ordeal. The face staring down at him was Hank, angry at usual. At least, that is what Flynn thought until he noticed that Hank was still sitting down beside him.

The newcomer lifted Flynn off the ground by the scruff of the neck and stared him down. "The names, Tank!" He gruffed. "I hear that your me, brudders new friend."

Flynn closed his eyes for a moment as he nodded. His neck was throbbing again. "Nice to meet you, too, Tank."

Tank threw the lad back to the floor and then went and sat next to Hank. They smirked at each other and gave each other a bit of a knowing high-five greeting. _Twins. Bully Twins. Just what Flynn needed... _

* * *

_Tank and Hank were the terror of the seas for Flynn. _There disapproving looks and scathing remarks shaped him into a true power-monkey. Over the next couple of years, he came to know what that meant, as he was forced to carry weighty bags of gun powder around the deck; he was constantly in harms way. Though he didn't like to think about it, he played an integral, though expendable, part in bringing down unsuspecting ships. The constant lifting and pulling on board turned him into a man in no time. Having successfully lived through many an attack, he was eventually promoted to a full Able-Bodied Seaman, nearly an equal to Hank and Tank. Even though this was the case, the sinister red-headed brothers reminded him that he would always be the little squirrel below them.


	8. Chapter 8 - Painting Flowers

"Mother, can I get a haircut?"

"What was that, Puppet?" Mother shot her daughter a very worried look. With a voice that started off with a harsh gruffness and then mellowed out into a more supple explanation, she continued, "My flower, you are beautiful just the way you are! You don't need to cut your hair!" She stroked her young daughter's hair affectionately, pulling it lovingly up to her cheek. "You hair is perfect just the way it is!"

The young girl petted her own hair and then sighed, "I suppose... I just get tired of it getting stuck sometimes. Yesterday, I almost choked myself with it."

The older woman just smiled. "Just be careful, dear. If your hair is getting stuck, its probably because you are engaging in dangerous activities. Didn't I just get you a new set of books last week? Reading is a very safe – and an educational past time."

Rapunzel rolled her eyes. She had already read those books through four times. "I like reading – but I can only read so many hours a day..."

"Well, why don't you take up painting?" Mother glanced at the child beside her.

Throwing her head back against her chair, the young girl replied, "I don't have any paints. I don't know how to paint..."

Her mother thought for a moment. "When I was your age – a _long_ time ago – I was quite the _accomplished_ painter! I would love it if you could learn to paint too... I could get you some paints from the market."

The little girl brightened. "Ooo! Would you! That would be splendid." Said the girl in a dreamy sort of way.

"Of course! I will head for the market first thing in the morning." Mother beamed, feeling quite clever for finding a way to curb the child's rambunctious antics. If anything were to happen to those precious locks... She shuddered to think what could go wrong. Painting – such a harmless childhood activity.

* * *

The next morning, Mother washed up and packed for her journey to the market. In one hand, she held a basket containing some food, and in the other a hand-full of flowing yellow hair. "Alright, Rapunzel, you know the trick. Be a dear and help me to the ground."

The child carefully used her long, long golden hair to lower her mother down the side of the tower. Down, down, down went her mother. Rapunzel felt a slight tug, signaling that her mother had safely reached the bottom. Jumping up to the windowsill, she waved as the only person she had ever known faded into the distance. When Mother was out, Rapunzel was free to be the crazy child that she locked up inside of herself. Mother always preferred a quite, tame, proper daughter when she was around. That was all well and fine, but being cooped up for so many years left the poor girl with so much pent up energy.

The first thing she did when Mother was out of sight was to swing from the rafters. _Oh what fun! _Then she proceeded to race around the room like she were in a swift horse race. She had never seen a horse, of course, but there were plenty of them in her books!

It wasn't long before the books began to form a building of sorts in the middle of the room. On the top of the pyramid of books sat a contented little girl sipping tea and chewing on a crumpet. She raised her teacup into the air triumphantly before taking another sip. After a few more sips, the girl looked around the empty room. It was one thing to be free to do whatever one wanted, it was another to find oneself utterly alone. What she really needed was a friend, she thought to herself. Granted, she was perfectly capable of being imaginative by herself – she had multiple imaginary friends, several of which she was quite close to. Yet, she had no _living_ friends. Mother wasn't a friend – she was a mother, one who had long ago given up on pretend. No mother wasn't that kind of a friend. Not the kind that one could play with and share adventures with. She would ask mother to bring her a friend next time she went to the market.

* * *

Mother returned with a loud "Hello! Rapunzel Dear!" that echoed in the little valley where there tower was. Rapunzel had been napping, but woke up with a start to see the wonderful paints Mother had advertised.

Mother seemed quite cheery as she climbed up the hair rope. Just through the window, Mother stepped into the room and with a look of mirth, she wrapped her arms around Rapunzel's hair and twirled around in a sort of jubilant dance. Obviously, she had missed her Rapunzel, or, ate least, part of her. Rapunzel shrugged, it was better to have some of her missed than none of her at all; so, she ran over to Mother, giving her a hug of greeting.

"I missed you! Do you have the paints? Can I see them?" Rapunzel hopped from one foot to the other in anticipation.

Mother smoothed her hair with a look of exasperation. "Hold on, will you? I just spent the last thirty or so hours trekking all around the mountains! I need to sit down first. Come, sit by the fire and let's brush your hair. That would make Mother feel better, Dearie."

Rapunzel obliged, telling herself there would be plenty of time to see the paints later. Mother was right, she had to be tired after all that walking. Best to be a good girl and help her Mother relax. The child sat on a footstool near the chair where Mother had sat to rest, as the older lady ran her fingers through Rapunzel's long, long hair.

"There, child, I am beginning to feel better already!" She said, as she petted Rapunzel like she were some sort of dog or cat. From time to time, Mother Gothel would draw Rapunzel's hair up to her cheek and breath in a deep breath of it's aromatic quality. She would close her eyes for a moment as she did. If anything were to happen to her flower, her Rapunzel – no, she wouldn't let herself think of that. _Rapunzel was hers, and would always be_, she reassured herself.

* * *

Paint! What a wonderful substance! It was some sort of oil-based magic, to be sure. Sure, Rapunzel had plenty of years of experience drawing and coloring with pencils, but paint was so much more marvelous. You could mix it, dip it, glide it, sprinkle it – so many possibilities. The girl had already painted nearly a hundred masterpieces. When she finished a painting, she carefully tore it out of her sketch book and propped them up on shelves, and anywhere else she could think of putting them.

The peculiar thing about paint, Rapunzel soon discovered, is that, it didn't seem to want to be limited to the paper that Rapunzel had been using. It also wanted to adorn her dresses and the table beneath her sketch book. In fact, paint droplets could be found dribbling off her paintbrush to all over!

Mother Gothel walked over to examine the child's progress. "Well, that is a very nice... bear."

Rapunzel looked shocked. "That's not a bear! I was painting you! See." She pointed toward the painting. "It has black hair like you. And blue-ish eyes. You are very pretty, Mommy."

"Haha. Well thank you, my flower. You need to work on your painting skills though..." Mother Gothel walked over to the mirror to examine herself. Placing her hand on her chest she emphasized,"I don't look like a monster." Turning towards Rapunzel, she continued. "Keep working on it. Remember, practice makes perfect. I have some art books somewhere around here that you can use to practice. Practice, practice, practice!"


	9. Chapter 9 - Searching for the Twelfth

**Author's Note: I am aging Flynn up from the last time I mentioned him. Here is nearly sixteen, while Rapunzel is 9-ish...**

* * *

Looking glasses don't lie. If there is land in out there, it's there. If there isn't, then you better not say that there is. Looking glasses don't lie, they just report what they see as they see it. However, youths may or may not always interpret what they see far off accurately. What looks like land could actually be a number of different things: fog, a porpoise, a dangerous sea monster, an iceberg (yes, similar to land but not quite what one's captain had in mind), or simply the musing of an overactive imagination or the musing of a sailer that's gotten a bit tipsy. Thus, one has to be careful when announcing that land is in sight, especially after several months of being hopelessly lost at sea...

"Land! I see land! Land ho!" Shouted an excited young sailor from the top of the crow's nest. The looking glass dangled dangerously between his outstretched fingers. "Land ho!"

Normally, this would have drawn the excitement of a few of the grumbling sailors on the main deck. Not this time, however. Land had been "sighted" far too many times in the last couple of weeks. Each time, it had turned out to be – not land. In fact, it was merely a sea beast that had been circling the ship in hopes of a light snack. Tank and Hank were amongst the leaders of the most skeptical.

"Why, I oughta'." Tank rolled up his sleeves after hurling a few muttered responses at the crow's nest. Tank and his brother had always been prime subjects of sailor models; yet, their sailor-ish manly looks were just fully beginning to blossom as they reached their mid-twenties. Sweet-sixteen had been sweet to be sure; but it was twenty-two when their muscles really started to bulge and glisten. _True sailors, what the world needed more of was true sailors like him and his brother,_ Tank reminded himself. What it needed far less of was scrawny, annoying little want-to-bes like Flinnigan Rider.

With a grunt, Tank began to heave himself up the ratlines, bringing himself to the little boy who cries wolf way too often. He imagined the fun that would come from shoving the kid over the edge of the ship, or stringing him to a line and dangling him out for a sea beast to swallow. The ship swung back and forth as it lapped on the ocean waves. No matter, Tank was a true Able-Bodied Seaman. Not some mommy's boy. "If you're hallucinating again, Flynn, you're gonna wish you was never been born!" The older boy threatened.

Flynn who was still hollering up a storm about land, shut up like a rat in a trap as Tank shoved his way into the crow's nest, grabbing the looking glass in the process. Flynn regained himself, "Well, hello, Tank. Nice of you to join me?"

Tank growled in reply. "Let me take a look." Tank glowered, forcing the looking glass up to his right eye. "Well, what do have here? Nothin'!"

Seizing control of the top of the spyglass, Flynn redirected it a little more towards the south. "There, it should be about there."

Tank continued to stare. A look of disappointment began to crease his lower lip. "Alrighty then. It looks like there might actually be land this time, you bilge rat." he lowered the spyglass and spun back towards Flynn. "That better be no stupid little porpoise!" He sneered before climbing back down, Flynn scurrying down behind him.

The Captain of the ship was a grisly old man. His famously long eyebrows spoke volumes of his ferocity. As Captain of the ship, he was orderly, professional as pirates go, never taking 'no' for an answer or 'I can't' as a cop out. Other than his eyebrows, his most distinguished feature was the deep scar emblazened across his chest, appearing as if a giant maw of a beast had ripped into him mercilessly. The Captain considered prolonged staring to either be a sign of offense or a challenge – neither of which he approved of. To talk with the Captain, one had to be tactful, not avoiding eye-contact, but not looking to blatantly either.

The ship's Navigator stood between the Captain and the wheel. He was a skinny guy that Flynn had known slightly longer than the rest of the crew since they both had been hijacked from the same ship. Though they might have shared this memento of bonding, the pair were far from being kindred spirits. In fact, _Preston_ was a season Navigator, who now served one of the fiercest terrors of the seas, Flynn was some over confident teen still trying to survive the cruel clutches of puberty.

Tank and Flynn approached, trying to look as manly and trustworthy as they could in the sight of their authority figures. "The squirrel here's spotted land, Sir." Tank stated, rolling his eyes at the annoying kid beside him.

Flynn gulped in response, "That's right, Captain, Sir. Land, Sir. Over there!" Flynn pointed a whimpering finger towards land.

The Captain wouldn't have given it consideration of Tank's seeming support had been absent. Tank, though rough around the edges and borderline disrespectful, was turning out to be a valuable and loyal commodity on board. "Preston, my spy glass!" His request granted, the grisly bear Captain looked through the spyglass. "Well, done, lads!" Turning towards the Navigator, "Make towards land right away!"

* * *

Land. None of the pirates had been on land in a long time. Those dratted ocean currents and devilish sea winds had shoved them off course more times than they wished to remember. Treasure had been promised; it was about time they found it.

Across the Poop-Deck had been painted in tar-black ink a treasure map. On it were the legendary Archipelagos of Endless Diamonds. All of the pirates desperately hoped that the title was as representative of the landscape as they imagined. Granted, only one of the islands was actually rumored to be full of diamonds. An impressive 'X' had been carefully drawn over it, underlined twice for good measure.

Now, land had been sighted, this was true; however, the land that was becoming gradually more visible, was only the first of many islands that made up the elusive Archipelago. The twelfth island was the only 'land' that really truly mattered in their minds. Thoughts of barbarity and cunning treachery were already hatching in the dark recesses of the most seasoned seamen aboard.

* * *

Flynn had been glued to the railing ever since land could be seen with the naked-eye. Crossing one foot in front of the other, he leaned into the mist that surrounded the darkness around them. The closer to land they got, the deeper the danger of the night became. There was no knowing what might be hidden in the fog, what might be lurking just within reach of the ship. The fear of the unknown and the twinge of adventure stayed his hands to the rail. The sounds of the night tickled his ears, telling him tales of riches. Vainly, he hoped to be the first to find the mysterious twelfth island. Perhaps then he would be advanced to the world of manhood and importance.

The others had whispered about the diamonds growing out of the heart of a living volcano. Having no experience with mountains or volcanoes, the lad could only quandar about what was in store for him. His own dream of fortune led to freedom and Independence. He had only been independent for such a short time. Hardly even a day. Riches indeed could surely buy him independence, the life of luxury and fairy tales. Flynn let go of the railing momentarily to warm his bare chest in the icy breeze. He looked at his calloused hands, he was an able sailor as much as any of them, he reminded himself. He had the potential to be great some day – to be remembered for something or another. At the moment, all that really mattered was being remembered. Without a family to think of him, it was important that the general public began to revere the sound of "Flinn Rider."

* * *

The deeper they sailed into the Archipelagos, the darker both day and night grew. The mist had become thick like burning smoke. The water around the ship was murky like tar, causing the ship to creep slowly through the islands. Per the Captain's orders, the crew had placed lit candles all around the perimeter of the ship. Through the haze, one could just make out the mounds of land. A majority of the islands were fairly small, less than ten ships across. The twelfth island was rumored to be at least forty ships from side to side. Everyone mentally counted the islands as they passed by. One, two, three... seven... ten... eleven...

Like a tooth stabbing out of the water rose the twelfth island. Jagged, mossy black rocks met at a point far above them. The sand on its shores contrasted the volcano in an eerie, pearly white. The ship froze in the water as the sand surrounded the keel and held it fast. All stood near on edge as the waves froze into silence around them. The men slowly let their breath free as they waited for the Captains directives. Long moments ticked by as the old captain gaped through his looking glass, forming a plan. With a sideways hand, he motioned for the Navigator to come nearer. They spoke in low hushed tones together. All ears craning to hear what was being said.

Turning toward his awaiting crew, the Captain announced, "Well, Maties. Me thinks we've made it. I can't guarantee what we will find once we set foot on dry ground. You know the stories as well as I do. We have come to seek our fortune, let's hope we are the first to see the shores!" He moved his hands as he continued, "For starters, I need a few seamen to go ashore and find a good place to set up camp. Hands shot up to volunteer, Flynn among them.

"Aww Heck! Let's send the babes, shall we? Hank! Tank! Flynn! Sawyer! Ready to show these scurvy sea dogs what yer made of?"

"Aye!" Responded the youngest of the crew members. They looked at each other straining to see hints of fear in their companions eyes.

* * *

Hank, Tank, Flynn, and Sawyer jumped into the skiff on the starboard side. Steadily, they were lowered to the salty water below. All four silently loosed the boat, taking the oars in hand. Dipping their oars into the water, they could feel the resistance of the thick, sandy water around them. With a good deal of heaving, they churned their oars forward. The wind was chilly as they grew closer to the island. Within a hundred feet of the Island, they could pull their oars no more. After a few tries more, it was clear that walking was the only way to come any closer.

"It's stuck." Hank complained.

"Ye think we didn't notice, dimwit?" Sawyer jabbed.

"Somebody gots to get out and push!" All eyes spun towards Flynn. "Ye get out and push, pretty-boy!"

Flynn dropped his jaw in protest, sputtering a bit before practically be shoved out of the boat by the older sailors. Flailing and cursing wildly he tumbled over the side, head-first into the icy water. Gasping for breath he resurfaced to find the older guys laughing uncontrollably at him. Just sitting in the shallow water that lapped about his waist, he persed his lips bitterly. With a huff, he drew himself up to his full hight and kicked the little boat, sending it swaying side to side like a rocking horse. The other three held on for dear life as they shouted threateningly back at Flynn. He had clearly upset them with his daring release of negative emotions.

The four sailors trudged ashore in annoyed silence. Their boots stuck in the murky sand with each footstep. It took a good deal of effort to pry themselves onto the rocky bank perched about a foot above the water. Flynn ran his hand beneath the jagged edge of the bank, noticing that it was raised out of the water as if it was floating. After skinning his bare knee on the rocks, he took a moment to catch his breath and look around. The black rocks on the island were dark like coal. The air smelled lightly of burning eggs mixed with a heavy aroma of lilacs. Following the smell, he spotted them, a sea of lilac bushes growing thick around the base of the volcano. The light purple of the blossoms were almost invisible against the backdrop of the dark rocks.


	10. Chapter 10 - Can't Think of a Good Title

The four sailors scouted the area for wood to make a signal fire out of. Only a few trees grew on the island, making wood scarce. After scavenging up some drier twigs and logs, Sawyer set their fire to burning. Still wet, the young men clung close to the flames, flicking the salty liquid from their hair the best they could. Flynn shivered, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. The thin tunic he had grabbed before jumping in the skiff was growing small around him, several of the front buttons long since missing. He took it off, smoothing its stained red fabric as he held it near the fire to dry. When they found the treasure, one of the first things he planned to buy was a proper set of clothes in the proper size. He was getting tired of wearing the faded hand-me-downs acquired when they raided ships. Typically, the fabric came with its own unique version of the musty scent of sweaty man. This one had been particularly fragrant when he first got it. It was a general rule that loot acquired from other ships was divvied out by seniority and rank; naturally, Flynn was always the end of the line.

Not long after the fire was roaring, three more skiffs full of pirates came ashore. They crowded around the fire, shoving the younger pirates out of the way. The Captain and his loyalist Mates, talked openly about the legends they had heard of the volcano. It was still alive, is what Flynn gleamed. A living mountain that could spew forth fire and ash. Somewhere deep inside was said to be more diamonds then one could cart away on a hundred pirate ships. Granted, sea dogs were prone to exaggerating, but even a fraction of that amount was worth having.

After talking for a while, the pirates had had all of the waiting they could handle. It was time brave the mountain and take what the treasure they had come all this way to find. The Captain and his Mates led the team. Some of the pirates carried shovels, all had swords at the ready. Flynn gripped his sword in like fashion, desperately hoping that there wasn't anything lurking within the mountain worth using it on.

Torches aloft, they crept through the lilac bushes and into the mouth of the dark volcano. Their breathing echoed violently through the hollow chasm of the volcano's interior as stalactites drip-dripped moistness upon their heads. Flynn tasted one of the droplets just above his lip. He wasn't surprised to find that it had a strange salty taste. Over the years, Flynn had forgotten that there were flavors other than salty.

The first thing the pirates noticed as they scanned the cave, holding their torches up to the walls, was the absence of diamonds. The second thing they noticed was the giant iron cage that hung from the ceiling. In it a ghost white skeleton pointed ominously down at them. To the older pirates, this was hardly shocking, but to Flynn it was goose-bump inducing. The skeleton's jaw, broken on the right side, hung slackly from the skull. On it's shoulder an even deader looking parrot was perched.

"Well, me hearties, it would appear that someone may have beat us to the prize! But, wait! Is that a hole I see neath the cage?" It was. A narrow hole that went straight down deeper into the cave. "Someun' get me a rope!" A rope was procured and lowered down the hole. "Who's to go first? Any volunteers, ye liver-bellied rats?"

Every body nonchalantly busied themselves with noticing the dirt in front of their toes. All except for Flynn, who was still staring frozen, wide eyed, at the cage. The Captain walked over and gave Flynn a good slap on the back to wake him out of his stunned daze. "Well, my lad, glad to see yeh so excited. Now then, down the tunnel!" He gave the lad a sharp kick in the direction of the rope.

Flynn gripped the rope with his sweaty hands. Hank and Tank gave each other delighted nudges. Gulping, Flynn hesitantly lowered one leg over the edge of the hole. He drew it back sharply when one of the pirates clapped a startling hand on his back and yelled. The rest of the crew chortled loudly – Hank and Tank among the loudest.

Bracing himself against his brother and wiping the tears from his eyes, Hank declared, "I forgot that we still had a babe on the crew! Better watch out, boys, the liddle laddie might fall in!" More chortles broke out in chorus; Flynn sighing to himself in obvious defeat.

Gripping tightly to the rope, Flynn lowered himself into the hole. A lantern had been tied to a sash around his waist to light the way. He lowered himself a ways more, uneasy with the fact that his feet had to dangle down first while his hands were busy holding on for dear life. His sword hang uselessly from his side. He couldn't hold it and the rope at the same time. Lowering a few hands more, he lost control of his grip and plummeted to the ground below. It hadn't been a long drop, but it had been a painful one. He rubbed his bloody elbow and then hastily shown the lantern's light around the corner, desperately hoping not to find anything. He found something. A giant something. A giant green, scaly something that was sleeping on a bed of diamonds. Flynn's eyes widened and his throat bobbed up and down uncontrollably. The lad crept back to the rope and tugged at it franticly. He began to climb up, up, up as quickly and quietly as he could. He was stopped midway by a foul-smelling pirate boot. Two more pirates had already began to descend. Desperately, Flynn tried to scramble over them to get back up; in turn, he was shoved back down towards the ground as the pirate muttered angrily at the lad's cowardice.

"Get out of the way, ye little babe!"

Flynn pointed shakily at the green something on the diamonds. "Some... something... over... th-th-there!"

Several of the pirates now stood around him, the stared greedily at the large pile of diamonds. Granted, its vastness had been grossly overstated, but it was still a fortune, regardless. So what if there was a bear-sized, winged reptile sleeping lazy on top of the pile. So what? They were _men_ they could handle a bit of pest control. They shrugged. Only a few years ago they had had a run in with a cracken, this tiny bear of a beast was hardly comparable.

One of pirates laughed at Flynn standing there blankly. He patted the lad on the back. "What's a matter, laddie? Never seen one of those afore?" Flynn weakly shook his head. "That, my lad, is a-"

* * *

"-dragon!" Said an excitable Rapunzel.

Mother turned towards Rapunzel. "I'm sorry, Rapunzel Darling, what did you say you wanted?"

Rapunzel drew her hands to her face in exasperation. Obviously Mother hadn't been listening, to absorbed with wrapping Rapunzel's hair around her neck like a scarf. "I said," Rapunzel remembered to speak clearly and loudly, "I for my birthday, it would be great for you to get me a friend. So, I was thinking, since, the other day, as I was reading through one of my books, the girl in the story had this amazing friend, so I thought, it would be lovely if you would get me – a dragon!"

"You want a what?" Came dryly from Gothel's mouth. "I'm not getting you a dragon, Rapunzel. Heaven knows the beast would never fit in the tower. Besides, they have such horrid breath – it's worse than a dog's, it really is. So, sorry, but you are not getting a dragon. And no, that pout won't work on me." Mother stood up, noticing the pathetic face of longing covering the child's face. Nothing would clear up this mess better than – a song. And she knew a particularly threatening one about dragons. She walked over to Rapunzel, wrapping an arm around the girl and nealing in front of her. "Rapunzel, darling, trust me. You don't want a dragon -

_"__Trust me, _

_You don't want a dragon. _

_There is nothing unlucky – like a dragon._

_They have dark, wicked dispositions._

_And they love to crash your party. _

_Trust me, _

_You don't want one, Punnzy!_

_Trust me,_

_You don't want a dragon._

_There is nothing more hungry – than a dragon_

_They have sharp, razer sharp teeth. _

_And there always voraciously hungry. _

_Trust me, _

_You don't want one, honey!_

_They don't train well,_

_They have rotten dispositions. _

_You might found out, _

_that they have eaten all the dishes._

_They don't train well,_

_They smell like dead fish,_

_and they poop real big piles._

_Trust me, Punnzy, _

_You're __**not**__getting a dragon!"_

Rapunzel sat on the ground and cried, her face buried in her arms. Her dreams had just been shattered, and she had been looking so forward to getting a dragon for her birthday. Mother Gothel petted her head to sooth her. She then drew the child into her arms and picked her up. Rocking her back and forth and soothing her like one would a dog or cat. "There, there! You will be okay, Rapunzel. You can always paint a picture of a dragon and pretend it's real, right? That would make you happy, right?" Rapunzel nodded stiffly, answering through choking sobs, "I suppose. If I can't have a real dragon, a pretend one is better than none." She broke out into another fit of sobbing. Mother Gothel still holding her and rolling her eyes with dismay. Children, so pointlessly emotional. Mother Gothel felt so relieved knowing they had made it out of the pre-toilet training faze. She could handle a bit of crying over pointless things as long as she never needed to go back to changing diapers! Eight year olds were so much more manageable. Stabbing a dreamer in the heart with reality and picking up the pieces was just all a part of a hard day's work. She snuggled her cheek close to Rapunzel's head to remind herself that it was all worthwhile.


	11. Chapter 11 - On to Plan 'B'

**Author's Note: I realize that, no matter how many years I have been writing, that I tend stay in the amateurish zone. So, if any of you have any writing tips (aside from doing more proofreading) feel free to offer them. I am always hoping to improve. For one, I don't really know what is the best word count for chapters. I try to keep them more or less the same; but this one, for example, just ended up so much longer than some of the others. Are word counts in the 2000s a bit to excessive? I don't know... I also realize that I am not the best at knowing when to appropriately split up paragraphs. I have always struggled with this... **

* * *

Fine. No dragon. It was time to start plan B. The sun was already playing through the window, the birds were singing in the valley, and Rapunzel was stirring in her bed. Morning was a wonderful time of the day. Pleasant morning smells wafted from the griddle, where Mother was busily making breakfast. After stretching, Rapunzel got out of her bed and wandered over to kitchen. She looked into the pan that was happily sizzling. It looked like wild bird egg omelets, with wild onions, cherry tomatoes, and bits of salmon. "It smells wonderful, Mom!" Said the bright-eyed, cheery voiced child. She did love mornings. She loved the birds chorusing outside. She loved Mom's stress-less cheerful disposition as she cooked. And she loved knowing that the sun would always come up, just as expected. No post-apocalyptic worries clouded the mind when it did that so faithfully. Though it was boring at times, she lived a quaint little life.

Mother looked up from her cooking, "Well, good morning to you too, Sunflower!" Mother smiled, turning the omelet over and sprinkling some cheese on top. "Breakfast is almost ready. Go ahead and set the table and I'll be right over."

Rapunzel walked over to the shelf and picked up her favorite cup. She had named it Michael – Michael the orange-ish-yellow cup. "Good morning, Michael!"

"Rapunzel."

"Sorry, mom!" She continued in a less obvious vocal level, "How are you doing this morning?" She lovingly filled the cup with some raspberry juice and set him on the table. A few more dishes and breakfast began. Leaning into her fork with her elbow on the table, Rapunzel explained, "I was thinking that since I'm not allowed to have a dragon that maybe I should start with something a little more easy to take care of. Listening to the birds this morning got me to thinking that they seem like rather low maintenance pet. In fact, a nice little sparrow would make and excellent companion."

"No."

"Mother! I would train it! I would be the best bird mother – taking care of person ever. Besides, since I have such an excellent mother, I feel that I would make an excellent mother. I have learned ever so much from you, Mother Dearest." Rapunzel put on her most pleasant smile, making sure to include some teeth.

"No."

"Please? Mother!" Rapunzel whined through 'er'.

Mother Gothel lifted her nose into the air and sighed. "Fine. If you can get the bird to fly in here, you can keep it. But, if I find any bird poop in here, I'm not going to be happy, young lady!" Lady Gothel shoved a few more bites into her mouth and tried not to notice the jubilant dance happening a few feet from the table. No poop. She meant it! "Rapunzel, finish your breakfast..."

"Oh. Yes." Rapunzel regained herself and sat back down at the table. "You are the best mother ever!" Her mother was giving her one of those _I'm serious, young lady_ sort of stares. "What? I'm eating? See!" Rapunzel raised a fork full of cherry tomato to prove it. "Did I tell you that you are such an amazing cook?"

* * *

Rapunzel leaned out the window. She loved the front window. It was once of her pan-ultimate favorite spots. It was the closest to being outside she was allowed to be. When she was feeling especially daring, she would sit in the windowsill, letting her feet dangle freely in the air. That was only when Mother wasn't looking, though. It was strictly forbidden that she ever actually go outside. As Mother had often said, "Outside is a very dangerous place!" Though Rapunzel liked the idea of a bit of danger and adventure, she wouldn't dare disobey Mother. There was surely a very good reason that Mother had forbidden going outside. Thus, being near the window and reaching a limb outside was the closest to being outside the Rapunzel would ever be.

She poked her nose out and looked from side-to-side. She could here them singing. They were hiding in the trees below. "Here, little birdies!" She cocked her ear in the direction of a very famous singer. He was very well known in the valley; his piercingly beautiful voice could be heard out-competing that of any of the other birds. Rapunzel tried imitating his calls. In one of her story books, the female protagonists had been able to communicate with animals. The birds paid her no notice. She tried again. Still no response. This was going to take some time...

* * *

The dragon was very much asleep. Its head was curled under it forelegs, a low, soft, continual snoring emitted from its nostrils. Its long talons gripped the gold greedily. In the pirates eyes, it was a baby dragon, not one to be overly concerned about. They had seen plenty of dragons before. Small ones like this were usually fairly safe, easily controlled.

"Alright, boys, time for some diamonds!" The Captain's decree received a loquacious response of "Arrs." The men brandished their swords and proceeded to the pile. Step One: Slay the dragon. Step Two: Take diamonds. Step Three: Home free!

Something went terribly wrong in step one. They were supposed to kill the dragon while it was sleeping. Somebody tripped and woke the grumpy beast up instead. This normally would have been fine – killing awake dragons was still a simple task. The most dangerous part of the dragon is, of course, was its teeth, followed closely by its claws. The dragon stretched its wings in an arch and then did something terribly unexpected. It burped. A horrendous smell filled the cavern, pirates dodged backwards in confusion, a few feinting in the stench. Those that were still conscious began to pummel the dragon with their blades. Even Flynn managed to get a few strikes at it. The pirates began to irritate the small dragon beast. It raised its head up, belched again, and then did something that no pirate had ever seen one do before. It opened up its maws and blew. Reddish light could be seen glowing from its tummy, raising to its throat, and spewing out of its mouth.

The pirates ran in terrified confusion. "Blimey! The devil-beast is breathing out fire!" Shouted one. "Its trying to burn us alive!" Shouted another. Some of the pirates desperately tried to escape up the rope ladder.

Drawing in more breath and expelling more flame, the dragon lit up the cavern, scorching and torching everything in its path. The fury was twinkling in its eyes as it chased after nearby pirates.

As the dragon lit up the cavern, the stones afoot began to heat up. Flynn found himself hopping from foot-to-foot trying to escape the heat. The cavern walls were starting to redden like embers in a warm stove. Hand-over-hand Flynn climbed the rope that had he had descended moments before. The rope swayed nauseously under the weight of the pirates climbing up. As the first pirate cleared the hole, the rope caught on the sharp ledge, fraying limply against the rocks. Flynn could feel the rope going slack-and-taught as the strands began to tear. Anxiously he tried to climb faster. Hand-over-hand. He wasn't quick enough; he could feel the last strand give way and the weight of the pirates above him crashing down on him. A pile of pirates lay crumpled on the baking cavern floor.

In a corner of the cavern near an impressive pile of broken rocks, Hank and Tank were throwing their weight into cutting the walls, large pointed diamonds in each hand. With measured breathing, they would pummel their diamonds down upon the wall with fluid rhythm. The diamonds made a tinkling sound as they roughed into the rocks.

Pinned under the weight of several stunned pirates, Flynn desperately tried to free himself. He swam through the bodies that the dragon was peppering with flames. Keeping his head low, he scampered across the burning floor to where the red-headed twins were trying to escape. By now, they had managed to tear out a hole barely large enough shove a medium-sized dog through.

"Agh!" Hank yelled in frustration as something unfortunately blocked their exit. A large lilac bush held the rocks in place with its steely grip. Try as he might, Hank could not cut through its virulent roots. Some magical treachery held it fast. Though the black rock gave way to the diamonds' cutting, the stubborn shrub would not. Not knowing what to do, Hank grabbed the nearest thing, Flynn, and shoved him boot-first through the sickening web of lilac roots. Despite the prickly pain of the bark shredding his skin, the lad was elated to be out of the cavern. Hank and Tank screamed back at him, "Burn the blasted bush! Grab one of the logs from the fire and burn this blasted bush!" Their screams shot his ears like a dying cat.

Flynn looked around desperately trying to find a log that was hot enough to burn the roots. He grabbed an especially heavy one and footed it back to the hole. Placing it over the bush he blew forcefully on the flame, pleading with it to catch on the lilac bush. At first, it wouldn't. It simply refused. Flynn held his hands on his head in agony, fearing the nightmare of watching his companions burn alive in the cavern below. He pleaded with the confounded bush to burn. Slowly, through some sort of luck, a single ember leaped from the log, and aided from the heat building within the cavern, blackened the trunk roots of the bush. It rose up in a roaring light, burning quickly and with force. Frightened, the lad sprung out of the way of the raging fire.

The clicking of the brothers digging intensified. First one, than another peered through the burning mouth of the fire. A few of the other pirates tried clutched onto the brothers legs, trying to clamber over them to safety. With cruel exasperation, the brothers turned their jagged diamonds on their companions, hacking at the clutches that drew them back down into the cavern. Just barely, two red-haired behemoths, sprang through the flames, just as liquid rock began to flow like jelly out of the hole. Singed and blackened, they ran towards the skiffs floating just off shore.

Nearly having his head crushed by a wayward boot, Flynn flung his arms tightly around Tank's leg, closing his eyes tight in hopes that he could hold on long enough to make it to the boat. His body was weak and shivering, but he clung on none-the-less, even as an embittered Tank tried to kick him off. Dragged hastily through the sticky, mucky, pearly sand, the lad hoped beyond hope that they could find one of the boats invisible in the darkness before them. He let go of Tank's boot as the water submerged him in the surf. Flailing through the mire, he drew himself to his feet, attempting to stay close to the sound of the brothers.

Flynn gashed his gut into something woody. It was the side of one of the boats. He let out an excited cry of delighted as he pulled himself over the tipping side. Hearing of his success, the brothers galloped through the water, splashing it into the air around them. The boat tipped mercilessly as two desperate pirates clawed their way aboard.

Hank's breathing was heavy and manic as he shouted in the darkness, "Where's the oars? We have to find the oars!" He found one wedged under the bench; flailing it madly through the air, he dashed it dangerously into the water, just as his brother found the other. The skiff, nudged out of the sand, raised its bow into the air and sped into the open water. In response, the sky lit up with a deathly hue of blood-stained red. Sparks and ashes spewed from the dark cone of the mountain, flooding the air with caustic smoke and sizzling flecks of fire. Flynn huddled low against the bottom of the little boat, shielding his face from the terror building around him.


	12. Chapter 12 - Forcing Acquaintances

By some stroke of luck, a heavy wind picked up the boat, and pulled it through the vast ocean. The boat tipped up and down with the steady current, the wind that had led them this far had deserted them just as readily. The three pirates aboard were barely half alive when a merchant ship found them. Their clothing was tattered and rank. Dazed they came aboard, hardly able to talk because their throats were so parched. Like ravishing beasts they downed the water offered to them by the well-meaning men aboard. When asked what had happened to them, Flynn concocted a pleasant story of three fishermen brothers that had been lost at sea in a merciless storm. It was a tear-jerker to be sure. Through another stroke of luck, the red-heads supported his story, embellishing it with daring hints of bravery on their part. Through misty eyes the crew listened to their story. Delighted to be heroic, the merchants welcomed the trio aboard, setting them to work as one of their own.

* * *

On a clear crisp morning, as seagulls careened overhead; news broke out, spreading through the deck light wildfire that the ship was nearing its home port. Flynn loved the excitement of shipmates as they talked amongst themselves. Great large beasts of men patted each other on the back and raised up jolly tankards of ale that they had saved for the homecoming occasion. They were almost comical in their joviality in comparison to the pirates he had lived amongst for so long. A few of the seaman had wives and families whom they would brag about proudly to anyone who would listen. Apparently, Flynn reminded at least half a dozen of them of a son at home learning a trade as this or that. Though he had no family to go home to, the adventurous sixteen year-old was longing to remember what life was like back on the mainland. He longed to taste warm, freshly baked bread again. The seatack they ate on deck was often stale and listless. He wanted to sink his teeth into carbs that still smelled like they had just come out of the oven. He also wanted to go somewhere that he could stay clear away from the red-haired terror brothers.

For their part, Hank and Tank had hated every moment on board the merchant vessel. Whenever possible, they kept to themselves, hardly speaking to anyone if it wasn't necessary. In turn, others avoided them. It was a win-win situation in that regards; however, rumors had started surfacing about the pairs secretive life. Their reputations with their shipmates became stained as the months moved on. Flynn Rider was obvious in his avoidance. He enjoyed having other men around to keep the twins off his back, a relationship that he worked hard to keep alive through helping extra with work around deck and playing frequent rounds of cards with the sailors.

Stepping onto port was a cheery occasion for everyone involved. Families lined the docks, waiting eagerly to catch gimpses of their long at sea loved ones. Everyone outside had put on their finest. A large banner had been strung up that read, '_Welcome Home, Port Norwinds Finest Seamen!'_ Cheers echoed when the ship laid anchor. The Captain and the Quartermaster were the first to greet their happy families, the rest of the men standing close in line. Flynn ducked behind the crowd of men descending down onto the dock. The port was much more vibrant than the one he had initially departed from. The nearby shops were painted in golden yellows and turquoise blues. He smiled hesitantly as he stepped off the gangplank. The smell that surrounded him was both salty and floral. Women all around were hugging everyone in sight. Several round women gave him warm embraces with a welcome and a 'how do you do?'.

Flynn was feeling flushed and overwhelmed. A part of him was emotional knowing that none of the onlookers were there to take him home. Another part was hungry to get out of there, away from the overly pleasant grandmother types. His face was beginning to hurt from all the smiling. Looking out over the crowd, he scanned the shops bordering the waterfront. Ducking through the hordes of hugging families, he walked up the boardwalk. One of the shops smelled tantalizingly like a confectioners. Another smelled like warm bread. Flynn fingered the few coins in his pockets that he had earned aboard the merchant ship. He drew them out of his pocket and watched them glisten in his upturned palm. He looked from the coins, to the shops, and back to the coins. It would be hard knowing how to spend them. He had next to no experience with financial stewardship.

Unsure of what to do, he sat down on a nearby bench to people watch. By and by, he began to doze off, slumping into the back of the bench. He woke dazed by the warmth of somebody sitting beside him. Slightly alarmed he sat up with a start, his hand over his beating heart. The figure in the yellow dress next to him giggled in a syrupy tone before pleasantly introducing herself. "I'm sorry I startled you. The name's Molly. I watched you get off of The _Golden Seagull_ when it docked. I thought to myself, now there is a sailor that I've never seen in this here town before. Most of the sailors who sale with Captain Cunner are locals, ya know." She folded her hands next to her face, waiting for him to respond.

Whoever she was, she had a very pleasant aroma that Flynn couldn't help but notice. "Oh, sorry, you just startled me is all..." He couldn't place it, but she had a hauntingly familiar sort of face under those brown sculpted ringlets. Molly? He hadn't seen a girl in many years, but he could never forget a name with so many negative memories attached. Molly? "Your name's Molly?" He said dryly.

The girl smiled a toothy grin. "Yes," she giggled. "That's my name. Molly Peters." She batted her eyes in a friendly fashion as the lad slunk deep into the bench, hands over his face. "What's the matter? Don't talk to girls much, huh?" Her eyelashes batted a few times. Casually, she placed a warm, white laced glove gently on his cheek, smiling when she noticed him flinch at her touch, smoothing his bangs out of his face.

_"__Molly Peters..."_ was all that he could groan in reply. Moving his hair and pulling a his fingers out of the way, she got a better look at his face, also noticing some familiarity. She flushed when she recognized the face attached to the teen's body beside her. "Eugene?" Her guess was confirmed by the rosy hue overtaking the boy's face like the plague. She giggled even louder now. "Eugene Fitzherbert!"

* * *

No matter how hard she tried, the birds ignored her. She tried singing to them, she started learning various instruments to play for them, she left out snacks for them. Nothing worked. After chores, she would spend hours in front of that window looking out at the birds of the valley. They would flaunt their feathers and sing to her from far off in the trees. She was certain that some of them found pleasure in taunting her so. Some of the particularly evil ones would oft fly to the top of the tower to sing a particularly teasing song before flying off again to the safety of the trees. Rapunzel had to control herself or she would find herself yelling at them at the top of her lungs. She would smooth her dress politely after such outbursts and try to think of other songs that might persuade the birds to come back.

Mother Gothel walked over to an annoyed girl who was wastefully staring out the window. She placed a hand on her shoulders before beginning an important lecture on life-lessons learned from the great outdoors."You have to remember Rapunzel, not everyone you meet is going to like you. The birds outside are a good example of how cruel the world can be. You can throw your heart at them, and they will just turn their backs on you." She paused a beat for added effect. "Just because a book character can do something in a book, doesn't mean that it works in reality." She patted the girl on the head before closing the window and motioning the girl to the fireplace. A sullen Rapunzel allowed herself to be led to the fireplace where she took her place on the bench beside Mother Gothel's chair. "Hairbrush!" Rapunzel handed her the hairbrush. Mother Gothel sat down and lifted Rapunzel's long golden locks off the ground and laid it lovingly across her lap. Nine years and it had grown so long and beautiful. Granted, the girl was pretty too – but her hair was so divine! She accepted the hairbrush, gently brushing it through Rapunzel's hair. She began to sing in a low solomn voice, just like she did every night, "_Flower bloom and glow, let your power show..."_Rapunzel obediently joined in harmonizing to the haunting melody.


End file.
